


Heracal Awoke

by DreadfleetNoctis



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Bittersweet, Character Study, Custodes, Dreadnought, Gen, Original Character(s), Shield host, Warhammer 40k - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27044257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadfleetNoctis/pseuds/DreadfleetNoctis
Summary: The Custodes Dreadnought Heracal is woken for battle. During the process, his mind is cast back to defining points in his life. The first in a series of pieces about the characters of the Dreadfleet Noctis, My homebrew Custodes Shield Host
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Heracal Awoke

Heracal awoke. He was not sure how long he had been in slumber this time. His body ached. His mind was foggy. After a brief delay, his optics kicked in. The world was washed by a cool blue hue and his heads up display began to immediately pick out objects of note, flooding his still groggy mind with stimulus. Temperature readings, life signs, weak points in the structures surrounding him, the sound of the ship’s engines humming.   
No.   
His engines humming.   
"Venerable one, awaken, we require your assistance once more."   
Heracal was not sure where the voice had come from, he looked left and right but could see no one. Then he looked down. About waist height to him was a man clad in midnight black with a striking red cloak pinned to his shoulder guards. He recognised the man as Captain Commander Artoris Talorn. His old friend, his battle brother and his saviour.   
"Artoris, my friend. For what reason have you awoken me today?"  
"Why brother Uraxies," Artoris responded, "there are foes to slay, cities to burn and worlds to conquer!" he paused, and said quietly "what else would there be?"   
Heracal did not need his technical readouts to know his friend was upset by this monotony. He knew his friend longed for the life of peace afforded him before the Great Rift. But such things were beyond them now.   
Somewhere, in the corner of his eye, he could just about make out the faint golden glow that had been with him his whole life. 

Heracal awoke. He was not sure how long he had been sleeping but he could feel the faint warmth of the morning sun on his cheek and smell a pot of his mother's famous stew brewing over the fire in the centre of their small hut. He leapt from the bed and rushed to hug his mother. He felt the silk of her dress folds glide through his finger-tips and relished the sensation of her warmth against his skin.  
His mother laughed heartily and reached down to ruffle his hair playfully.   
"Now, now, Heracal, don't jostle me! I might spill the stew! We wouldn't want that now would we?" his mother teased him. Heracal laughed with childish glee heartily before running off outside to feel the cool morning dew on the grass beneath his feet.  
In the distance, he could just make out what appeared to be a man, surrounded by a golden shimmering aura.   
"Mama," he called inside, "who's that man over there?" 

Heracal awoke. The world came surging back to him in a roar of pain, explosions, screaming, gunfire and metal crashing against metal. The pain was fleeting as his advanced metabolism and his suits built-in medical suites injected him with an alchemical brew of stimulants and pain dampeners. The sounds of battle raged unabated however and Heracal only had a fraction of a second to reorient himself before the sickening howl of a beast rang out from next to him.   
With a single graceful motion, Heracal rolled to his left and over his guardian spear grabbing it in the process all while avoiding the incoming axe swing from the green skin. He continued his momentum and used it to twist in the mud before exploding to his feet, dragging the tip of his spear through the green skin from hip to shoulder. The horde had him surrounded. He had fallen after a lucky blow to the back of his head. He had lost his helmet in the weeks of fighting, taken by a gigantic beast he had heard some of the army regulars calling a Nob. He had lost a shoulder pad to a lucky shot from one of their artillery platforms manned by the tiny green skins. He had heard their jeers from the other side of the battlefield.   
He had heard their screams when he ripped their gun apart with his bare hands and stomped the pathetic creatures into the sopping marsh.   
His spear, Ergasia, had long since run out of ammo, and the wear was starting to show on the blade. His armour was so slick with dried mud, blood and gore that you could hardly tell it was golden anymore.   
In the distance, Heracal could see the shimmering gold radiance of his Lord's aura. No matter where he was in the galaxy he could always see his lord.   
He always knew which way to go.   
Heracal braced his feet and widened his stance. He tightened his grip on his spear and thumbed the activator rune.   
He breathed. It was a long deep breath. He took the time to quiet his mind, to focus his senses. He closed his eyes and listened to the wet footsteps of the green skins hurrying towards him and smelt the fresh rain, marred by the stench of death and gunpowder.   
He opened his eyes, took three bounding steps before launching himself into the air. His spear crackled in his hand, the few spots of his armour that still showed gleamed golden in the sunlight that momentarily broke through the clouds. He looked like an angel, with a shimmering halo surrounding him. The clouds framed him and looked like feathery white wings. His face was silhouetted in front of the sun.   
In that moment, suspended in the air, Hearcal felt the rush of battle. He felt his hearts thundering in his chest, his muscles coiled and ready to strike, his mind sharp, his senses heightened.   
His purpose, clear. 

Heracal awoke. He felt nothing but pain. Hot searing pain all over his body. He was amazed he was still alive.   
He wished he was dead.   
His spear lay broken next to him, crushed before his very eyes with as much effort as one would break a stick by the most gargantuan green skin he had ever faced. He had heard rumours of the so-called "Beast" but had thought they were but stories that flitted through the ranks of the regulars. Anything looked huge to them.   
He looked down to his missing leg, torn off with glee by the same beast. He looked to his missing left arm, mockingly dangled in front of him by the Foul Xenos. To his right, the glow cast by his Lord. He smiled.   
He had done his duty in the end. He would die knowing he had served diligently.   
He would die knowing he had done his task.   
As he closed his eyes and let the darkness enfold him once more, Heracal could have sworn he heard his mother whisper to him.   
"Not yet."

Heracal awoke. He felt….   
Nothing.   
Panic enveloped him, a feeling he had not felt since he was a boy. Not since the golden man took him from his mother.   
Heracal tried to thrash his limbs.   
He could not.   
Heracal tried to scream but when he tried to breathe he suddenly became aware that his mouth was full of tubes.   
The panic intensified.   
Heracal noticed the golden glow, it was close and getting closer. It spoke to him, and his panic immediately abated.   
"You have done so well Heracal"   
He knew the voice belonged to his Lord, but for some reason, it reminded him of his mother.   
"I feel the pain you have suffered my child, I know I have asked much of you, I know you have given so very much to my service and if it were my decision, I would allow you to go quietly to be with your mother."  
The glow dimmed slightly. It looked…. Sad?   
"Alas, the galaxy is an ever-changing place and I will require your services for a great many years."   
"Whatever you wish of me Lord, I shall do it," Heracal stated this with confidence and he felt his body fill with pride. Serving his Lord was what he was created to do.   
No.   
What he was born to do. The glow had been there his whole life, it had always been his purpose. To defend the realms of this man for as long as he breathes, that was his one true reason for existence.   
"Eternity is a long time Heracal, even I cannot see how long I will require your services for. And you will not be like you were before, you will be…. Different. In some ways, you will be a warrior tenfold stronger than you were in your previous life, but in other ways, you will be a broken shadow of your former self. Are you sure this is what you want?"  
The words weighed heavily on Heracal but he still knew what his response would be.   
"I am certain, Lord. It is my purpose." 

Heracal Awoke. He had been interred in his dreadnought chassis for longer than he had occupied his mortal shell and yet he yearned for it. He missed waking up to feel the sun on his face, to smell fresh food cooking. He longed to run his fingertips over the soft silk of a gown or the cold steel of his spear. Anything to break the monotony of his existence.  
Anything to feel alive again.   
He looked down and saw the waiting captain commander. The man who had dragged his near lifeless body from the field of battle. The man who had ensured his internment in this walking tomb.   
The man who had saved him.   
The man who had condemned him.   
The years of this crusade had worn heavily on Artoris and this was obvious on his face. He longed to return to the Palace and be close to his Lord, but the needs of the imperium lay elsewhere.   
Heracal could still see the glow, but it grew fainter by the day and none of his efforts seemed to be changing or even slowing this. It only made him more determined in his task.   
Heracal lumbered his way to the teleportarium, his heavy foot fools clanging off the ship's interior, causing the hallway to shake. He arrived at the teleporter and took his spear from the arming servitor. It bore the name Ergasia but it was not the same spear he had once used to cleave his way through the horde of green skins.   
The servos of his joints hissed and whined as he tested their mobility. He looked at Artoris and clapped his gigantic fist to his chest in the style of the pre-unification salute.   
Artoris chuckled. It had been so long since he had seen that salute. It reminded him of better times.   
Heracal nodded at the teleportarium operator. With a crack, the smell of ozone flooded the chamber and a small tear in reality, confined to a corner of the room appeared.   
Heracal made towards it, slowly increasing his speed until he had broken into a full-blown charge.   
A memory came to him then, a memory of a simpler time, but one so tangible to him at that moment it seemed real. Inside his chassis, Heracal smiled for the first time in a thousand years.   
He took three long strides before launching himself through the rift with a great bound.   
He exploded through the rift and hung above the battlefield, suspended in mid-air for a moment. His spear crackled in his hand, his armour gleamed golden in the sunlight. His purpose was clear. 

But Heracal felt nothing.


End file.
